


Out of the Dawn

by SpaceWall



Series: Dawn [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Families of Choice, Family, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Fourth Age, Gen, Love, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Unconventional Families, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-01-22 19:24:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12489076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceWall/pseuds/SpaceWall
Summary: Elrond Peredhel sails for Valinor, without his children, and without his father. Of each, he had three. Now, he knows, with growing dread, that there is at least one of each he shall never see again. Other people know other truths.OrA series of conversations that Elrond has with or about those he calls father after he sails for Valinor.Now available in Deutsch here:  https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/5ac93c1c0001db3d38ecc6f9/1/Aus-dem-Morgengrauen





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contain Maedhros, and though it's a lighthearted story, there are the general Maedhros sort of warnings. If you think that might upset you, look after yourself first.

The sky was the colour of the lightest rose petals, the first rays of the sun just peeking out above the water to the east. Frodo watched it, but his mind was elsewhere. Beyond that dawn lay everything Frodo had ever seen or known, from the darkest parts of Mordor to the shire. In those lands stood or lay everyone Frodo had ever known, save those now on this very ship. The rest of those aboard the ship remained below deck, save for one. Watching off the back of the boat just as Frodo was, Elrond stood with his arms braced on the edge. Without elven grace, he would have been close to falling over. 

“It’s rather beautiful.” Frodo said, and was surprised to see Elrond start. Frodo thought that it was the first time he’d ever seen an elf flinch in surprise. To not hear one approach and speak, even one so clever-footed as a hobbit, spoke volumes to how deeply engrossed in his own thoughts Elrond was.

“I suppose it is,” conceded Elrond, but his mind was clearly back on the shore they had departed from. Frodo supposed that of all them on this ship, Elrond had left the most behind. Frodo himself had the second-best claim, but though the shire had been home, there was nothing for Frodo there now. Nothing but Sam. For Elrond, there was family, a daughter and two sons.

“What are you hoping to see?” Elrond turned to make eye contact with Frodo. He seemed tired. His eyes carried in them a weight that Frodo knew all too well. The sun, just cresting the horizon, shone through his dark hair. 

“I wouldn’t say that I am hoping to see anything.” The deflection was poorly executed, and after a sceptical look from Frodo, Elrond elaborated. “But I suppose that I wish I could still see the shore.”

Frodo considered this. “Why?”

Elrond took a sudden interest in the railings of the boat. His hands were still closed around them. On one hand rested his ring, from the set that had lead the two of them to this place and time. It seemed devoid of power now, but in the early morning light, it still shone. 

“My father,” Elrond ultimately responded. When he spoke the word, it sat oddly in his mouth like it received little use. 

“Your father the star?” As Frodo said this, he was imagining not a figure, but a vial of light, shining against all the darknesses of the world. 

This startled a laugh out of the elven lord, but he shook his head. “Eärendil is my father by blood, but I confess that I’ve not been thinking of him lately. And of course, if I was, I ought to be looking ahead. No, Ring-bearer, I’m thinking of my foster-father. I have spent, in the time since the close of the third age, months and weeks searching, up and down the coast for him. But not even I can find Maglor Fëanorion if he does not want to be found. And apparently, he did not. Not even to say goodbye.”

“And he will not sail?”

“Not if prompted by the Valar themselves. He wishes to punish himself, I believe, for every wrong he has ever committed, and that is a very great number of wrongs. So, he shall remain in Middle Earth until either he is summoned before Mandos, or until Arda Remade. Whichever comes first. Of course, he never thought of how he was punishing me too. No doubt he would be both shocked and horrified to hear that his actions once again cause me to lose a parent. But he has never thought of himself as my parent and so cannot fathom how I could be saddened to lose him.”

Frodo thought of Bilbo, asleep below their feet. He had been a good father to Frodo, if not one of blood, and the thought of leaving him without even saying goodbye, not just for a short time but until the end of this world, was unthinkable. It is rather impossible to be a student of elven culture and especially of elven language without knowing of Fëanor and his sons. But even for the horrors of their stories, Frodo thought inflicting this added sorrow on Lord Elrond was especially harsh. For he was perhaps one of the only people in all of elvendom who loved Maglor the Wanderer. And for that, he suffered. 

Elrond had turned again to face the rising sun when Frodo again interrupted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” 

This time, Elrond did not turn back. “Few do. In all the annals of history, they never discuss what truly happened after the Havens of Sirion. They do not speak of how the dreaded kinslayers took two terrified, lonely children, and raised them. Those who do know too often paint it in the wrong light. They imagine child stealers, who lied to and deceived us. But they did not do that either. We knew who Maedhros and Maglor were. They told us, even when we were very young, what they had done. And sometimes we hated them for it. Elros always more so than I. It took me a very long time to reconcile the idea of the elves who had murdered and slain their own kin on three occasions, with those who had taught me to read and had kept me safe against the many, many dangers that scurried and scuttled through the forests of Sunken Beleriand. By the time I think I fully understood both that I should hate them, and that I never would, Maedhros was dead, slain by his own hand, and Maglor was nowhere to be found. I know that he lives. Men and elves have seen him over the years. I was just never one of them. I believe he thought I would be angry with him.”

“Would you have been?”

“Terribly. Especially in the early days. I had a thousand questions and no good answers. Why didn’t they surrender at the end? Why did Maedhros do what he did? Why did they decide to raise us? But mostly I would just have been happy to see him.”

The sun was almost fully over the horizon by that point, its rays reflecting on the surface of the sea like a mirror. The waves had been remarkably calm their entire voyage, but on this morning, it was almost entirely still. The Lady Galadriel ascended the stairs behind them, and made her way to lean over the edge as well. She was more carefree in her movements than Elrond. Her hands were not closed on the railing at all, and yet she did not fall. Frodo wondered how long she had been eavesdropping. With her elven hearing, it could have been quite some time. 

“You will see him again,” she told Elrond. When he turned to stare, she added, “that is a not prophecy, it’s a fact. You chose the path of the elves, Elrond. Even my cousin cannot avoid you for all of time.”

“Perhaps,” said Elrond, “Perhaps.”

\--

On the docks, a host of elves awaited them. Fair and dark and every shade in between, in robes of a thousand colours. It was odd to be greeted with such warmth by people with whom you had nothing in common. Or at least, that was the case for Frodo. Galadriel was greeted with open arms, by her parents, who, Frodo knew, she had not seen for more time than hobbits had existed. With them as well was Finrod Felagund, who Frodo recognized by his startling resemblance to his sister. The hero of old helped guide Bilbo down the gangplank, introducing himself as they went. Elrond, who had been first unto the shore, was already in the arms of his wife, the Lady Celebrían. Though in her colouring she looked more like her mother, Celebrían also shared something of her daughter’s physicality, the way her body moved as she held her husband tight and wept at the news of Arwen’s choice. 

Most of those waiting on the dock were near-strangers, people who had once owed allegiance to Galadriel, or had served Gil-galad with Elrond, or who simply wanted to see the ship carrying the ring-bearers come in. A darker elf at the front of the crowd caught Frodo’s attention. His hair was elaborately braided, clearly by someone else, and it was woven through with gold. Clearly, he was known to these people. Finrod greeted him in passing. But that was not what caught Frodo’s eye, any more so than the hair had done. What Frodo had noticed was the attention that this elf was paying Elrond. His eyes lingered for a long time on the Lord of Imladris, then, without saying a word, he pushed his way back through the crowd, and disappeared. 

“Who was that?” Frodo directed this question to Gandalf, who watched the proceedings at his side. 

Gandalf looked down to meet Frodo’s eyes. “Who was whom?” He spoke slowly and deliberately.

“The elf who was just there, with the gold in his hair.”

Gandalf peered into the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of the stranger, but to no avail. To his credit, his eyes only gave up searching when Elrond reappeared to introduce Frodo to Celebrían. From there, they were swept up into a rather grand celebration organized by Galadriel’s father, Finarfin. In the confusion, Frodo rather lost track of thoughts of the stranger. Like as not, he had just been one more curious soul. 

\--

Celebrían had built a beautiful house for them, overlooking the sea. It had the architectural stylings of Imladris, but the Noldorin influences were clear. For example, the elaborate water heating system, which had pipes laid throughout the walls of the house to bring hot water wherever it was needed whenever it was needed. As the elves had returned to Valinor, there had been an uptick in the rate of technological progress, as people who had walked and learned and innovated thousands of miles apart were brought together once again. In some areas the changes were purely aesthetic. Architecture and music, for example. In others, they were all about functionality. For example, the roads were built so smoothly that one could roll a single wheel down them and be sure it would not so much as wobble. 

“Are you Elrond?” A voice broke Elrond from his meditations. He was sitting on a bench on the edge of the cliff, watching the waves break on the rocks below. He had come up here every morning since he arrived in Valinor the week before, to meditate and to grieve. While Celebrían’s heart broke for their daughter just as his did, and she could understand more than most the pain of being separated by the sea from one’s parents, some things were better contemplated alone. 

“I am.” Elrond examined the speaker. He had classical Noldor looks that could have meant many origins, but it was the gold braided through his hair that gave his identity away. One could not be raised in the home of Maedhros Fëanorion without knowing exactly who this man was. “And you are the High King Fingon.”

The High King of the Noldor sat on the ground. Aside from the gold in his hair and the embroidery on his clothes, a copper ring was his only concession to his station. “You’ll find that High Kings are not in short supply on these shores. There must be, what, four of us living? No- Five? Six!”

Elrond counted in his head. Finarfin, Fingon himself, Gil-galad, Fingolfin, Turgon- was there anyone else? “Five, I think.”

Fingon counted on his fingers. “It must be at least six.” He counted again, twice. “Though of course I’m counting Maedhros so perhaps five is more accurate.”

Elrond stared at him, slack jawed. Fingon’s eyes, which had been judgemental, turned soft. “You didn’t know that he was back. I assumed Artanis- Galadriel- or Olorin Mithrandir would have told you.”

“I believed that Maedhros would not be released from Mandos by the will of the Valar or, failing that, he would take a very long time to heal.” Elrond kept his voice steady only through force of will. “He was not well when I last saw him.”

Fingon pulled his knees to his chest. “You will find that if you appeal to the Valar every single day for almost a century after they finally consent to release you from Mandos, because of your 'Valiant' stand against the forces of the enemy, they can be very forgiving. What’s more, your father Eärendil spoke to the Valar on his behalf.”

“Why did he do that?” Not that Elrond was ungrateful, but from everything he knew of his blood father, it seemed a little uncharacteristic. Few people had it in them to forgive Maedhros.

Fingon shrugged. “Who am I to say why the good and pure do anything? Perhaps he’s just a merciful person. Though to myself or Maedhros I cannot say. I was starting to think that I would be appealing to the Valar alone on his behalf until Morgoth returned from beyond the Door of Night.”

Elrond had understood from a very young age, as most children understand that their parents are married and have promised to love one another forever, that Maedhros had loved Fingon. Like all the tragedies of Arda Marred, Maedhros and Maglor had spoken as truthfully as they could of Fingon. Though that had usually been Maglor. He was the better storyteller of the two, and was also less hurt by speaking of such things. Maedhros had on his better days told them of Fingon, speaking always with a voice filled with love, of someone who they should aspire to be like. A hero of elvenkind. 

As he had gotten older and heard stories of Fingon from different sources, Elrond had often wondered if Maedhros’s great love had been unreturned. It was a relief to know what it was not. He took a second look at the copper ring, and found that it was on the ring finger of the left hand. Briefly, he wondered what Maglor would have made of that development. 

Elrond stood, and Fingon followed him to his feet, dusting himself off. “Can you take me to him?”

Fingon looked him dead in the eye. “Will you be gentle with him?”

“The only people who have ever seen me interact with Maedhros or Maglor who could possibly think that I don’t love them like the fathers I never knew are Maedhros and Maglor. I’ll only touch him wearing kid gloves if it means that I can see him again.”

“You’re not angry with him?” Fingon seemed protective. It was odd to think of someone as fierce as Maedhros needing protecting, but in a way it made sense.

“I’m absolutely livid. He left me and didn’t even say goodbye. Wouldn’t you be livid if your father did the same?”

“My father did do the same. I was furious. Certainly, I wasn’t gentle.”

Elrond met his eyes with the same air of authority that he had always attempted to use when healing, to varying degrees of success. “I’m one of the greatest healers of my age. And I raised three children and a foster son. If I haven’t mastered the art of being gentle even when I am very angry or very afraid by now, I doubt I ever will. What’s more, I’ve had more than an age to forgive him. And of course, it’s Maedhros.”

To most people, that would be confusing, but Fingon just nodded. “I’ll fetch him. He insisted on coming with me, but refused to speak to you himself until I’d confirmed that you wanted to see him.”

Fingon turned to leave, but at the last second, in a fit of sudden nervous energy, Elrond grasped his wrist. “Is he angry with me?”

Fingon shook his head no, but before he could open his mouth, Elrond pressed on. “I could not find Maglor to try and convince him to sail. Will he be angry with me?”

“Did you try?”

“For years. I must have visited every nook and cranny where he had ever been seen in the last thousand years. I believe he thought that I would be angry with him too, but I could not think of a way to find him and convince him otherwise.”

Fingon considered this. “He’ll be devastated to learn that Maglor will not sail, but I cannot imagine him blaming you.”

Elrond released his wrist, and watched the grass-stained former King of the Noldor in Middle Earth make his way down the garden path. Then, he turned to continue his watch of the sea. In some stories, his mother Elwing always watched the skies for her husband’s safe return. Elrond has once thought that foolish, but now he understood.

Not fifteen minutes later, Fingon returned, half-pulling Maedhros along behind him. When they crested the hill, Fingon let go, allowing Maedhros and Elrond to cross the distance between them at their own, slow place. They stopped no more than an arm’s length apart, and Elrond looked closely at his foster-father. Maedhros seemed healthier than Elrond had ever seen him. The right hand was the most obvious difference, but it was by no means the only one. In Elrond’s childhood, Maedhros had been gaunt, in body and face, his eyes sunken a little too far into his head. Now, Elrond could see why he had been named Maitimo. His eyes were clear, his face and body relatively healthy, and his hair was well tended. In Elrond’s youth, any care Maedhros’s hair had received had been from Maglor, who rarely had the time. Now, his elaborate braids were a match with Fingon’s. Elrond wondered for an instant if one of them had done both, or if they had done one another’s. It was all very dwarven. Less dwarven was the lack of gold and jewels. Like Fingon, Maedhros wore only a copper band.

“Atar,” Elrond’s voice cracked on the word. He opened his arms, but made no move to approach Maedhros. 

“Elrond,” Maedhros, for his part, only whispered. After a second, he put his arms around Elrond, and they embraced. Maedhros had a good amount of height on Elrond, and as such, Elrond was still able to bury his head in Maedhros’s shoulder. He wept. For his lost childhood, for his lost family. For the first time ever, Maedhros was able to both hold Elrond tightly to him, and run long fingers through his hair.

When they pulled back some time later, Fingon was gone. Maedhros seemed unconcerned by this development, and led Elrond back to his seat on the bench. 

“You should not call me that,” Maedhros said. It was an argument they’d had before. But Elrond had better ground to stand on now. 

“I have been Lord of Imladris for an age, I have raised three children and a foster son, and I’ve watched the time of the Firstborn in Middle Earth reach its close. I’ll call you father if I want. And Maglor too, if he’ll have me.”

Maedhros raised an eyebrow at him. “We kidnapped you and killed your parents.”

Elrond, who had been debating this very question for literal ages, had an answer at the ready. “My parents, under force not of any oath but of their own will, abandoned Elros and I to our fates at the hands of known kinslayers in favour of a silmaril. Forgive me if I think more kindly of those who, against everything that compelled them to do otherwise, raised us from the time we were six, dried our tears and nursed our bruises. I have spent more than enough of my life being told how I should feel about this. I know how I feel. I love my parents, and my parents are those who taught Elros how to be a great warrior and a ruler of men. My parents never once told me a lie, and if they ever stretched the truth it was to put themselves down and raise up others. Perhaps you’ve heard of them. One of them wrote the Noldolante and the other one has frankly dwarven taste in hair styles.”

At the word silmaril, Maedhros had flinched, but by the end of Elrond’s tirade simply stared. Hearing the dwarven hairstyles comment, he reached up to touch his own elaborate braids. “Fingon said you would be gentle.”

“I told him I would be. But of course, I was raised by the sort of people who were always willing to explain any of the most awful events of elven history in honest detail to make sure I would never grow to love them because they thought that was the kindest thing they could do for me. So perhaps my perspective is a little skewed.”

They were quiet for a long time, watching the sea. Finally, Elrond broke the silence again. “I’m glad you’re here. And I’m glad you’re not alone. To be honest, I was starting to wonder if Maglor had greatly exaggerated tales of your lost love.”

This startled a laugh out of Maedhros. “I’m glad to be here, though I imagine any tales Maglor had to tell you were complete fabrications. We were always very discrete.”

“Not according to him you weren’t. To hear Maglor tell it, the pair of you were swooning in each other’s arms everywhere from Valmar to Himring.”

The sound of soft footsteps was the only warning of Fingon’s return. “There was some swooning involved,” he said. In his hands he held a mug of tea. He must have gone inside to speak to Celebrían. He passed the mug to Maedhros and sat, leaning against his legs. 

“I don’t remember any swooning.”

“Well you wouldn’t- you were the one doing the swooning.”

Maedhros drank from the mug, and then gave Fingon an absolutely scathing look. “That doesn’t count. I fainted from blood loss and exhaustion.”

“Into my arms.”

Elrond sat back and watched the pair bicker. It was very life affirming to see Maedhros so animated. When he spoke, there was passion in his eyes, and the way he looked at Fingon was full of love. He could almost imagine them younger, with the same fire and hope that they had now. In the stories as they were written by those who had not been there, Fingon had saved Maedhros not out of love but out of duty, and to the extent that there had been love, it was purely familial. This was clearly not either of those things. Instead, they were a well-matched set, Fingon ready to defend Maedhros outwardly, going places he could not or would not, while Maedhros steadied Fingon from the shadows. 

The bickering subsided, and Elrond said to Fingon, “So I take it you met Celebrían?”

Fingon shook his head. “We’ve met before, but not today. I went inside to see her, and instead met the Ring-bearer. He was the one who gave me tea.”

“Ring-bearers, like High Kings, are rather thick on the ground in these parts. Which one did you meet?” Maedhros said nothing, for the question was not directed at him, but he gave a critical look to the ring on Elrond’s hand. Elrond removed the ring and handed it to him without a word.

“Frodo, I believe his name was. The younger of the two.”

“That would be Frodo, who carried the ring into Mordor. He reminds me a great deal of you.” This last comment was directed at Maedhros, who looked up.

“How so?”

Elrond just shrugged. “The Tale of Frodo Ninefingers and Samwise the Brave. You can’t tell me that there isn’t something of the pair of you in that.”

Maedhros looked confused, but Fingon laughed. Of course, it would be easier for Fingon to see himself in a hero than it was for Maedhros. When he got the joke, Maedhros laughed too, quietly. 

“They say that history repeats itself.” Fingon proclaimed solemnly. 

Maedhros was quick to retort. “Who says?”

“Men and dwarves both.” Elrond said. “Though I find elves are equally susceptible to such things. It certainly was not mortals who were forever telling me that Arwen was Lúthien reborn. Nor was it them comparing Celebrimbor to his grandfather.”

Fingon considered this. “Were those intended as insults or compliments?”

“The first as a compliment and the second as an insult I believe, although from my perspective, a comparison to Lúthien was equally tantamount to prophesizing disaster.”

Maedhros returned Elrond’s ring, and gripped his hand tightly. He did not speak words of sympathy, for which Elrond was grateful. So many people had said some variant of apology to him that it was beginning to wear thin. But of course, Maedhros knew what it was to raise children who could choose the path of mortals. They sat in tableau, an odd sort of family portrait, speaking of everything and nothing, until Celebrían came to fetch them for lunch.

\--

Fingon sat under an apple tree in the garden, reading a book of Vanya love poetry. It was alright. Finrod had assured him that it was excellent, but Finrod had an implicit bias towards the Vanyar in general and Vanya poetry in particular and was therefore not to be trusted in these matters. Because of the dullness of the book, he was more than relieved to hear the soft approach of elven feet. Then he looked up and discovered not Maedhros but Elrond. 

“If you’re looking for Maedhros, he’s in the kitchen, I believe.” Elrond nodded, but remained standing in front of Fingon. It was hard to see his mortal origins in his looks. His ears were pointed, and he walked with the grace of an elf. Perhaps he had grown more elven over time. In Maedhros’s memories, Elrond and Elros had always been of two worlds. Not quite so effortlessly graceful as elves, but with the strength and fortitude of men. 

“I wanted to say something to you.” Elrond announced, ominously. Fingon closed the book, and met Elrond’s eye. “I didn’t thank you, yesterday. It’s- I know I mentioned that I believed I would not see Maedhros again, of his own volition or that of the Valar, but I don’t know if I can explain how grateful I am for the fact that I have. I believed that, on these shores, if Maedhros were to never have been released, that I would be the only one to miss him. And I would have missed him. I’ve lost a lot of family in my life, with no expectation to see them again. And some of them I shall never see again. Elros, and now Arwen are gone from me. And to be frank, I have not received word from Elwing nor Eärendil in my time on these shores. Though I know they live, I do not know what we can salvage from that.”

Wordlessly, Fingon gestured for Elrond to sit. To hear the hobbits tell it, this was one of the wisest of all in Middle Earth. And no doubt in some respects, he was very wise. But not in all.

“You ought to reach out to Elwing and Eärendil. I have no doubt that they are waiting for you to do so. In their own way, they no doubt feel that they’ve failed you just as Maedhros does.”

Elrond looked down at his hands before responding. “But that’s the problem, is it not? Maedhros feels that he has failed me, and so hesitates to count himself among my family, but he hasn’t. Eärendil and Elwing are my family whether I want them or not, and yet they are far less to me than Maedhros and Maglor. I barely even know them.”

It was very strange for Fingon, to think of Maitimo as someone’s father. Not so much to think of him with children- in their youth, it had been rarer to see Maitimo without children than with, for he was perpetually trailing a brother or six- but to think that those children were his own was odd. And yet, it was clear that this was how Elrond saw things. 

“To hear Maedhros tell it, you and he were not that close. Though he held great love for you, he was ultimately your jailer.” 

“To hear Maedhros tell it, he stole us away at night from a good home where we were likely to be well looked after and well loved, kept us chained to a chair for a few decades, and then sold us to Gil-galad like cattle. He’s an endless self-saboteur. And if he had treated us the way he imagines that he did, I would not have loved him. But that is not how things were at all.”

Fingon could not help but ask, “How were things?”

Elrond took some time to answer. Finally, he said, “let me give you two examples, and you can come to your own conclusions. My memories of my early childhood are not very clear. Men often cannot remember their earliest years well, and my earliest years were longer, such as those of the elves. Though I have often heard them described, I do not remember well what my parents looked like, for example. My first truly clear memory is of that day. Not of the violence, we were hidden away and well. No, what I remember best is how Maedhros insisted that they carry us out of the city themselves, and later, his insistence that we be fed, and kept somewhere safe and warm. Maglor was the one who dried our tears, and sang us to sleep that night, but Maedhros was always afraid for us, he always tried to keep us safe. The second example is this. I spent more time with Maglor and Elros more with Maedhros in our later years, for Elros was already well on his way to being a great warrior and a ruler of men, while I thought about books and healing and a thousand other things. However, when Elros and I would fight, as happened sometimes, it was Maedhros I would go to. Maglor was almost irritatingly sympathetic. If you wanted a hug, and someone fussing over you, Maglor was your best bet. But I always went to Maedhros, because he would sit in total silence, and listen to you complain without saying a word. And then, once he had learned the whole truth of what had happened, he would help you figure out a way to solve it. Sometimes, he would tell you to apologize, or to simply wait. Once, when I had broken a favourite toy of Elros’s, he sent me to learn how to make a new one. That was how Maedhros was.”

Without Fingon saying a word, Elrond got to his feet. “So, thank you,” he added, “for everything that you did for him. I’m in your debt.”

As Elrond began to walk away, Fingon called after him, “No, Elrond Peredhel. In this matter, I am in yours.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gil-galad and Celebrían are wonderful, and Elrond contemplates his relationships with Eärendil and Maglor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to start this with a massive shoutout to everyone who read part one, and also a massive apology, for taking so long to finish part two. But at least it's done.

Gil-galad shuffled the cards, then dealt them evenly between Celebrían and her husband. Elrond had intended to teach them a new mortal game, but was now being soundly defeated by Celebrían. 

“How was it?” Celebrían directed the question towards Elrond, sorting her cards as she spoke. 

“Awkward. We have almost nothing in common, and they both spent the entire conversation dodging around speaking of Maedhros. I get the distinct sense that Elwing was not pleased about Eärendil’s decision to speak on his behalf.”

“I’m sorry, Elrond.” Gil-galad told his old friend. “do you think that you’ll be able to mend this?”

Elrond divided his cards into two piles, and sorted the first. His hands were steady, and betrayed none of the tension Gil-galad could sense in him. “Is there anything there to mend?” The question was clearly rhetorical, and after a breath, Elrond continued. “I didn’t even remember that my mother looked like me. I was just so used to as being thought of as Noldor that I didn’t consider that my father was blond not dark-haired, and so I must have gotten my looks from my mother.”

Celebrían laid a comforting hand on her husband’s knee. It was good to see them happy and together. Since her arrival on these shores, Gil-galad had endeavoured to be a good friend to Celebrían. This was not so hard a task. She was an elleth of great charm and wit, and Gil-galad admired her greatly. But she had been lonely without her parents, husband and children. Now, at long last, Elrond was here, and though his arrival had brought great tragedy for Celebrían, at least she had not had to bear it alone. 

“In that case, I change my question. Would you like to try and form a relationship with them?”

Elrond played a two, which was not a bad start. “I know I should.” Celebrían played a six. “But I just don’t know where to begin.”

Elrond played a pair of fours. Celebrían played an ace, and said, “I don’t think there’s a proper way to begin. Gil-galad, you would know better than I. What do you think?”

Gil-galad considered this. His own reunion with his father on these shores had been fraught. Through the will of the valar, Gil-galad had returned from Mandos less than a year after he had entered. His father, on the other hand, had not been granted mercy until almost halfway through the third age, on account of his role in the Flight of the Noldor, and as a kinslayer. After his return, he had barely said hello to any of his family before he went to plead for Maedhros before the valar. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the impulse, but it had certainly smarted to have to play second-fiddle to someone he had assumed had been at most a good friend. Then, when Maedhros had finally been released, they’d immediately gotten married, shocking the entire population of Valinor. That was when it had all finally made sense. In fact, that reminded him-

“Did you at least find out why he spoke for Maedhros?” They both stared. “Your father, I mean. Not mine. We all know why my father spoke for Maedhros.”

Elrond nodded, and immediately lost another round to Celebrían, who now held all of the cards save three. “My father met Elros, by ‘accident’, on the sea. Elros never flattered Maedhros. But in his own way, he was as grateful for the sons of Fëanor as I was. And of course, he did tell Eärendil when they met that I had held a great love for both of them. Apparently, my father felt indebted to Maedhros on our behalf and would prefer not to be. Elros also apparently recounted a number of our most dangerous exploits, which probably went a long way in showing that Maedhros and Maglor really did look after us well.”

Celebrían was quick to ask, “your more dangerous exploits?” She was even quicker to take another of Elrond’s cards, leaving him with only two. 

Elrond tapped his two remaining cards on the table. “Running away and almost getting eaten by wolves, that sort of thing. Once Elros got stuck up a tree and Maglor had to climb up to get him down. Gil-galad, you were going to give me your advice.”

Gil-galad nodded. “Celebrían’s right that there’s no formula for how to do this. My approach mostly consisted of being obstinate and not making much of an effort until Maedhros showed up and I realized why my father had been so determined to be reunited with him in the first place. Then the three of us just sort of worked things out. It was certainly awkward in the beginning, but we got there. In some ways, Maedhros helped a lot, because I had no expectations of him. I’d spent years building up all these expectations of who and what my father would be, and then when he wasn’t, I was disappointed. But as we actually got to know one another, I did eventually realize how unreasonable my expectations had become.”

Elrond surrendered to Celebrían, who began to shuffle the deck, quickly, but with just a little flair for the dramatic. She had been so timid upon her arrival in Valinor, afraid of the world around her. Now, however, she carried herself with confidence, and as her hands made the cards dance through the air, there was life in her eyes. 

“You could also ask Celebrimbor,” Celebrían said, as she began to divide the cards between Elrond and Gil-galad. “His relationship with his father has been… strained, I believe is the word he uses.”

The fourth member of their quartet was absent at the moment, having traveled to visit his grandmother, Nerdanel, the week before. Celebrimbor and Gil-galad had not been friends before their deaths, but after Celebrimbor’s return, they’d grown close. Following Celebrían’s arrival in Valinor, Gil-galad had gone to her immediately, as was unsurprising given how close he had been with Elrond. More surprising had been Celebrimbor’s arrival. He had not been especially close with Celebrían nor Elrond, but he had shown up anyways. When asked about it, Celebrimbor had explained that he alone of all in Valinor, understood how Celebrían felt when she was afraid. After that, she had become a close friend of theirs. 

Elrond shook his head. “I don’t think that Celebrimbor would appreciate that. And more’s the point, our situations are very different. He knew his father for centuries before they became estranged. I barely even knew my parents at all.” Gil-galad could not agree more. 

“I do have one piece of advice for you,” Gil-galad said, pondering. “Bring someone with you next time you go to see them. Maedhros’s presence helped my father and I a lot. If nothing else, he gave us something to talk and think about other than how broken our relationship was. Though obviously, you shouldn’t bring Maedhros. Celebrían and I would be happy to help. As would either of your hobbit friends, I suspect.”

Elrond leant back in his chair, and said nothing. 

\--

“I just want you to know that this is a terrible idea,” Maedhros said, but made no move to leave. Together, they watched Eärendil make the ascent to Elrond’s house. They were sitting around a small table, with a teapot and cups arranged atop it. From here, one could see down the long, green slopes, and over the winding paths that criss-crossed the land. 

“Utterly, unforgivably, stupid. But I fully intend to go through with it anyway.”

Eärendil, having finished his climb, bowed slightly in acknowledgment of Elrond and Maedhros. He did not smile, but his face was not harsh. Elwing had not accompanied him. 

“It’s been a long time,” Eärendil said to Maedhros, looking him up and down. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

Maedhros inclined his head. “Thank you. Both for your congratulations, and your role in making it possible.”

Eärendil smiled, and Elrond breathed a sigh of relief. Already, this was less awkward than his first meeting with his blood father. That meeting had been so plagued by Maedhros, despite his absence, that when Gil-galad had suggested bringing someone, Elrond had known exactly what to do. After all, better to have Maedhros himself sitting quietly than the idea of Maedhros hanging ominously.

“Tea?” Maedhros asked. He held the teapot in a way Elrond could only describe as ‘slightly-off’. It was heavy enough to require two hands, but Maedhros had lifted it with only his left, and then grabbed it with his right after as a second thought. Eärendil nodded, and Maedhros poured him a cup. 

After that, Maedhros did not speak for quite some time. Eärendil asked a number of questions, about Elrond’s friendships, his marriage, his children. Maedhros, who knew the answers to most of those questions already, payed very little attention to Elrond’s answers, until Eärendil said, “Do you believe that your sons will sail?” Elrond blinked, as both of his fathers looked at him. 

Maedhros opened his mouth in what Elrond suspected was going to be a reprimand before Eärendil spoke again. “I’m sorry,” he said, bowing his golden head in shame. “I should not have asked. Certainly, Elwing and I never liked it when people asked us the same question. It’s a terrible thing to ask of a person.”

Elrond nodded. Though his belief in his sons was steadfast, he also knew the pressure they were under. In his own youth, the choice had been worse, harsher and more sudden, but it was still an impossible choice to make. Functionally, they were choosing between everything they had ever known, and their parents. Elrond, who had always wanted to see the most of the world, had been blessed with a relatively easy choice on a personal level, save for Elros. Elros had always wanted the opposite. Where Elrond had wanted the assured wonders of this world, Elros had looked beyond, to the last great adventure. To choose what both of their hearts desired, they had severed their destinies from one another. Elladan and Elrohir would be making their decision together, just as he and Elros had, though their hearts were not so different from each others. 

“What did you say then?” Maedhros asked. “When people asked you if the boys would be joining you.”

It was probably subconscious, Maedhros’s referring to Elrond and Elros as ‘the boys’. Elrond didn’t think he’d been called a boy, let alone one of ‘the boys’, to his face by anyone before. 

Eärendil shrugged. “I never knew what to say. Elwing always just said ‘I hope so,’ but it’s strange to have such a specific expectation of your children. Don’t misunderstand me, I wanted to see you again, but I wouldn’t have wanted to choose this path if it was just me, so I can hardly fault Elros for doing the same.” This last sentence was addressed to Elrond. 

Maedhros, now fully engaged in the conversation, replied. “It’s very strange. For me, I never had any sense of what having the choice would be like, but it was impossible to watch Elros grow up and not suspect that he intended to choose the gift of men. He always had this- attitude I’d suppose you could call it. He was so confident, so out there, and he was never afraid of death. You’d think that elven children would be less cautious, more free than mortal children, because they know there’s nothing they can’t come back from. But all my brothers were cautious children, in their own way. If not physically, then emotionally. Elros was not.”

Elrond, caught in the tide of memories, jumped in. “Elros being un-cautious physically is unsurprising- he was a great warrior after all, but he always wore his emotions on his sleeve. He could be very excited, or very sad, or very, very angry. I remember, he was angry a lot when we were between twenty and thirty. At you and Elwing, at Maglor and Maedhros, even rarely at me. Though that settled down as we grew older, Elros never stopped experiencing everything to the fullest.”

With Maedhros now fully part of the conversation, they shared memories of Elros, of his and Elrond’s shared youth. Eärendil listened closely, asking questions, and sharing what few memories he had of the Elrond and his brother when they were very young. Some of what Maedhros remembered, and all of what Eärendil did, Elrond did not. They had finished the tea, and the sun was low in the sky before Celebrían arrived to drag them all to dinner. Eärendil had the good sense to quite clearly like Celebrían immediately, and so, the four of them sat down for dinner. The Hobbits were with Galadriel. Bilbo, who was riding on one last wave of energy brought by his arrival on these shores, was traveling, attempting to see all of these lands that he could. Frodo went with him, out of a sense of duty. 

Over dinner, Celebrían shared her own memories of their children, and of their life in Imladris. Maedhros, who had never seen either, returned to his position as an observer. Though now that he had been broken out of his shell, he asked questions and laughed at Celebrían’s jokes. When he and Eärendil left, Celebrían and Elrond were able to, on two fronts, congratulate themselves on a job well done. At a later date, both Gil-galad and Celebrimbor would call the pair of them mad, but given their success, they didn’t especially care.

\--

Galadriel had foretold of Sam’s coming, so when that morning Elrond had seen a ship built for one making its way towards Valinor, he had hurried to assemble a party on the docks. Frodo was there, at the head, and with them also were Celebrían, Galadriel, and Fingon. Mithrandir was in Valmar, and had not arrived in time. Fingon had come to meet his namesake, professing curiosity. Maedhros had declined, citing a desire not to intrude. This had not been a surprise, as Maedhros rarely ventured out in public, but it was a great shame none the less. And greater still when the ship docked and Samwise did not disembark alone. 

Elrond saw Maglor before Maglor saw him, which gave him time to elbow Fingon in the ribs. “Fetch Maedhros. Now.” 

Fingon, who had been watching Frodo, turned to look at Elrond without seeing Maglor. “How?” He asked. Then, when his eyes followed Elrond’s to where Maglor was passing some of the truly ludicrous number of bags Samwise had brought out of the hold, his jaw dropped.

“Tell him the dock is on fire. Tell him they’re giving away free pottery. I don’t care. Get him here.”

Fingon fled just as Maglor looked up, eyes meeting Elrond’s for a brief second before glancing over at Fingon. Elrond crossed the dock, dodging Sam and Frodo’s happy reunion, to come face to face with Maglor. If Maedhros had looked healthier than Elrond had ever seen him, Maglor looked sicker. He was far too thin, and had no light in his eyes. 

“Atar,” Elrond said, and pulled him tight to his chest. Maglor wept, and said nothing. “Atar, I have good news.” Still, Maglor did not speak. “Atar, Maedhros is here.” 

Maglor pulled away to look at Elrond like he was mad. His eyes scanned the docks. “Not here,” Elrond amended. “We did not know that you were coming. Fingon’s gone to get him now.”

Maglor shook his head. “That’s not possible, Elrond.”

“Just wait.” Elrond pulled him back close again. Maglor’s hair was tangled and full of sand. It was like he hadn’t even washed it before he got on the ship. Behind them, the rest of the figures moved and spoke. Elrond tuned them all out. This was a miracle. When he pulled away again, he did not release Maglor completely, grasping his arm tightly. Then, “Maglor, your hands.”

They both looked down. Maglor’s palms hid knots of scar tissue. Instinctually, Elrond ran his hands over Maglor’s, pressing and twisting to assess the damage. “It’s not nearly as bad as it looks.” Maglor said, an obvious lie. His voice caught in his throat. 

More than anything, this broke Elrond’s heart. The idea of Maglor unable to make music to his fullest capacity was unthinkable. And worse, Elrond could have fixed this. There were still things that could be done, poultices and exercises, but when these burns were fresh, Elrond could have healed them. “You haven’t lied to me before. Don’t start now. Can you play?”

Maglor closed his hands on Elrond’s as best he could. He at least had the decency to be ashamed at being caught in a lie. “I haven’t tried. Not for an age.” 

Elrond squeezed Maglor’s hands back, and scanned the docks. Samwise and Frodo were still speaking animatedly. Galadriel and Celebrían stood and waited in silence. They were dressed very similarly, but to Elrond’s eyes, Celebrían had a unique beauty. While her mother was almost ethereal, Celebrian was full of life. Seeing catching Maglor’s eye, she smiled at him. Elrond waved them over.

“Celebrían, this is Maglor. He’s my other foster father. Maglor, this is my wife, Celebrían.” She inclined her head at Maglor and then, tentatively, looked at her mother. 

Galadriel’s eyes were harsh on Maglor’s. Under their pressure, he seemed to melt away like the shade he so resembled. Then, tentatively, she reached out and touched him. When she spoke, it was in a form of Quenya that had hardly been used for centuries. Elrond knew the tongue, but it was still strange to hear it spoken aloud. An accurate translation of what she said would have been something like “You look terrible, cousin. When was the last time you had a bath? If it was any time since the second age, I would be surprised.”

Celebrían elbowed her mother, clearly embarrassed. When all was quiet, she spoke. “If you are half of what my husband says you are, then I am honoured to meet you. He speaks highly of you indeed.” Now it was Elrond’s turn to look embarrassed. 

Fingon reappeared, this time on horseback. He was alone. “Where is he?” Elrond snapped, then immediately regretted being so forceful when Maglor flinched. 

“On his way. I told him that he might actually want to get dressed before he came down.”

If Maedhros had been originally behind Fingon, he had more than made up for lost time. Fingon was not even finished speaking when a lovely dappled mare pulled up beside him, and her rider threw himself bodily from her back. Maedhros landed well, rolling to his feet in a single motion. Though Maedhros had been at peace for a very long time, he still had fantastic reflexes from years of combat. Maglor covered his mouth with one hand in shock, and took a step back. Elrond grabbed him before he could step clean off the dock, but it was a close thing. 

Maglor and Maedhros sized each other up. Maglor’s eyes were full of disbelief, focusing mostly on Maedhros’s new hand. Maedhros, on the other hand, scanned Maglor’s face, his gleeful face quickly turned sad as he took in how sickly Maglor was. Then, without speaking a word, Maedhros swept his younger brother up in an embrace. Celebrían and Galadriel had already retreated, but Fingon had to pull Elrond away.

“Let them have a moment,” Fingon advised. 

Elrond, finally able to tear his eyes away from Maglor for the first time since he had stepped from the ship, looked at his mother-in-law. “Did you see this?” He accused. 

Galadriel laughed, high, sharp, and cold as ice. “I didn’t see anything, as you know full well, but I did tell you that you would see him again. And now you have.”

Celebrían broke in before her mother was even finished talking. “He seems unwell, Elrond. In mind as well as body. This land will heal him as much as it heals any, but I know as well as anyone can that it won’t heal alone. We’re going to need to work to come up with strategies, plans for the future, short-term and long-term.” Elrond nodded, and Celebrían pressed on. “Do we need to prepare him a room, or will he stay with you and Maedhros, Fingon? Or will he want to bypass us entirely? If my memory serves, he has a wife on these shores- will he want to see her?” 

Galadriel laid a calm hand on her daughter’s shoulder, silencing her. Left to her own devices, Celebrían was both remarkably good at planning for any eventuality, and remarkably good at worrying herself half to death over those plans. Elrond squeezed Celebrían’s hand in silent thanks. Sam and Frodo approached, after a time, standing close together. Elrond could not help but share their relief and joy. Sam carried in his arms a bundle of papers tightly bound with twine. He handed them to Elrond. They were letters, carefully addressed to himself, Galadriel, and Celebrían. Elrond had delivered such a package himself to Celebrían when he had sailed. The letter writers were very much the same. Elladan and Elrohir, Arwen, Celeborn, as well as a number of Elrond and Celebrían’s friends who remained in Rivendell. Carefully, Elrond untied the twine, and divided the letters between their recipients. Fingon and Celebrían were already speaking to Sam, intrigued and pleased to meet someone so totally unlike anyone they had ever known. 

Elrond looked up from his pile of letters as Maglor and Maedhros returned. Maedhros was smiling, a magnificently hopeful sort of smile that Elrond had rarely seen. Maglor had taken up his customary spot at Maedhros’s right side. He very carefully bowed to Fingon, who rose. Unlike Galadriel, he did not take the time to render a judgement, though like her he met Maglor’s eyes evenly. Maglor spoke first.

“I don’t know if I should say congratulations, or ‘ it’s about time!’”

“It’s about time for congratulations,” said Fingon, looking far too pleased with himself. Maedhros rolled his eyes. 

Maglor then turned to look at Celebrían. He inclined his head. “It’s an honour to meet you as well, Lady Celebrían.” Celebrían gave him another smile, radiant as ever. 

Though Maedhros, like Galadriel and the rest of their family, had the ability to communicate mind-to-mind, he rarely did so. In fact, in this place and age, few did. Old pains and hurts, scars and memories, had made communicating mind-to-mind too painful and complicated for the average elf to do with anyone other than their closest partner on a day-to-day basis. But Maedhros opened his mind to Elrond now. 

He’s not well, Maedhros thought, speaking slowly and deliberately. If you want Fingon and I to prepare a room for him, we will. Though in truth, you’re better qualified, both as a healer and as his son, to look after him.

Elrond sent a flicker of joy at being called Maglor’s son, and then, articulating himself as best he could, Celebrían and I are more than used to play host to all manner of peoples. I’d be happy to help.

Elrond snapped back to find that everyone was silent. “Well, I suppose we shouldn’t stand on the docks all day,” He said, trying to reorient himself. Maedhros was staring at Fingon very intently, probably conveying the plan. 

Fingon, for his part, said to Maglor, “I’ll go track down a change of clothes for you.” He jumped on his horse without Maglor saying a word, and rode off. 

Celebrían quickly took charge, navigating hobbits, elves, Frodo’s pony, and Maedhros’s horse back up the hillside to their home. At some forceful gesturing from Maedhros and Frodo, Maglor had been pressured onto the horse, and Sam onto the pony. Both of them looked older than their counterparts. Though they had never been of an age, Sam and Frodo had once looked it. Now, Frodo had barely aged since setting foot on these shores. As for Elrond’s fathers, Maedhros had always been the elder of the two, and the years had weighed heavier on him, once. Now Maedhros was free of sorrow, and Maglor seemed like he was lost. 

They were an odd procession, Galadriel leading the pony and speaking with Frodo and Sam up front, while her daughter made notes on a piece of paper as she walked. Elrond had long learned not to question Celebrían’s methods, both in reasoning and in acquisition of random writing utensils and bits of paper. Maedhros was half-leading Maglor’s horse, and telling the story of when Gil-galad had decided to bring Celebrimbor as his date to the wedding. Elrond, who had heard the story at least once from all involved parties, tuned it out. In this instance, Maedhros seemed less to be speaking because he had something to say, and more because Maglor had become very quiet. 

“Elrond,” said Maglor suddenly, and Elrond moved to walk beside Maedhros. “Is this really happening?”

Elrond suddenly found himself filled with a strong desire to hit something, which he quelled. “Yes. This is real.”

“How do I know?”

“Do you think that none of my children would be here if this was a dream?”

“Perhaps it’s my dream not yours.”

“Then I ask, where is Elros? Do you remember even in your most hopeful dreams that he should not be here? Where are the rest of your brothers, your wife, your father? If this was a dream, I should think I would have managed a more robust welcoming committee than us.” Here, Elrond gestured to the group at large. 

Maglor, sufficiently rebutted, nodded. A moment later, he said. “I’m sorry.”

Elrond almost didn’t want to ask. “What for?”

Maglor shrugged. “For kidnapping you, for expelling your parents from your life, for avoiding you, for missing everything. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for your wife, for your daughter, for your sons, for Elros’s descendants. I’m just sorry.” 

Maedhros gave a tug of the reins, pulling the horse to a stop. Maglor, surprised, almost slid right off. 

“Don’t apologize,” Elrond commanded, while Maedhros reached up to help Maglor regain his balance. The horse was a proper elven steed, graceful as she was tall, and if Maedhros hadn’t been ridiculously tall himself, the gesture would not have worked nearly so well. Maglor, once he had regained his balance, gave Elrond a skeptical look. “I’m serious.” Elrond told him. “Was I furious at you for avoiding me? Yes. Do I wish thing had been different? Doubtlessly. Do I regret that you were compelled against your will into conflict with my blood-family? Of course. But you don’t need to apologize to me. Or at least, give it a couple days to figure out what exactly you’re apologizing for.”

“Don’t challenge him,” Maedhros added. “He’s made up his mind, and if either of us were going to convince him to change it, I would have years ago.”

They made their way, in silence now, the rest of the way up the road. Galadriel and the hobbits continued to speak, and after a short while, Celebrían ceased her note-taking to join them. In time, the road turned into a path, and Celebrían lead them up the back way, by the stables, to their home. Once there, Galadriel graciously bowed out with both horse and pony in tow, so Celebrían and Elrond could lead their guests into their home. Sam, who had seen Rivendell, immediately began comparing the architecture. Maglor who never had, blinked. 

Celebrían checked her notes. “Frodo, please show Sam to his room. Elrond, prepare a room for Maglor, would you? Maedhros, I could use a hand.” 

“Well, it’s a good thing I have two then,” Maedhros said, looking far too pleased with himself. 

Elrond rolled his eyes, and was pleased to discover Maglor making the same gesture of disapproval. “Fingon’s rubbed off on you,” Maglor told his brother. 

Maedhros played at being offended. “I’ll thank you not to mention that!”

Elrond felt his face turning red. Celebrían covered her laughter with her hand. Frodo, already pulling Sam away, chuckled under his breath. A glance at Maglor revealed that he was smiling, a sly, sneaky smile. 

“You set that up.” Elrond accused, pointing at Maglor. His father only raised an eyebrow at him. Elrond, considering his options, decided to drag Maglor away before Galadriel returned. There was only a certain amount of innuendo that was acceptable in the presence of one’s mother-in-law. And that amount was none at all. 

There were several suites of quarters in the family wing of their house. When Celebrían had built it, she had designed it to house all three of their children as well as them. Now that they would never need quarters for Arwen, her room had lain empty, and neither Elrond nor Celebrían had had the heart to repurpose it to some other task. But now, Elrond felt almost compelled to lead Maglor there. 

“Whose room is this supposed to be?” Maglor asked as Elrond rummaged in the cupboard across the hall for towels. 

“How do you know it’s not just a guest room?” Elrond retorted, handing two towels to Maglor as he did so.

“Well, for one thing, you didn’t answer that question with, ‘it’s just a guest room.’ For another, we’re in the family wing. And also, there’s clothes in some of these drawers.”

Elrond looked past Maglor, and was surprised to find that some of the dresser drawers were filled with robes and tunics. They were old, and Elrond guessed that Celebrían had probably made them for Arwen before Elrond had sailed. It pulled something in his heart. 

“They were Arwen’s rooms,” he confessed, and was surprised when Maglor pulled him into a hug. It shouldn’t have been surprising- comforting was in Maglor’s nature- but Elrond hadn’t thought he had it in him anymore. 

“I’m sorry.” Maglor told Elrond again. Before Elrond could chastise him again for vague apologizing, he continued, “I’m sorry that you’ve had to lose so many people in your life. It’s not fair. And I’m sorry that I was part of that. You lost your parents because of me, and I can’t ever make that up to you.”

“Well, you’re here now, aren’t you? That gives me all four of my parents, alive and well.”

“You know what I meant.”

“And I’m choosing to ignore it, atar. If you want to make it up to me, you can start by being here, and then if you feel a need to continue, you can go have a bath, and then you can come have dinner with me, and Maedhros, and our respective spouses. That’s how you can make this up to me. Now let me see if I can get this water running.”

Maglor smiled through his sorrow, and followed Elrond into the bathroom. There, Arwen’s absence was even clearer. The tiles and marble were very much designed to her taste, with pale greens and greys the main colours. Once Maglor was settled into a much-needed bath, Elrond returned to Arwen’s chambers, and went through the drawers. They were mostly empty, but along with those containing clothes, some contained jewellery, while others contained toys, weapons, and armor. He managed to move most of the clothes into bags before he had to sit down on the bed, head in his hands, and began to cry. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Fingon said from the doorway, sometime later. He was carrying a small bag, which he opened to reveal several tunics and pairs of pants. 

Elrond dried his tears swiftly, and met Fingon’s eyes. “It’s alright,” he reassured. “It’s just been a strange day.” 

Fingon nodded and, with Elrond’s mute permission, sat on the bed beside him. “It has,” he said. “But a good one, I think, in the end. I know Celebrían and Maedhros are worrying, but for now, I think it’s sufficient to just be grateful. Certainly I am. Leaving aside any feelings I have about Maglor, the relief and hope in Maedhros’s face when I told him was worth anything we’ll have to face in the coming weeks.”

Elrond could not help but agree. For the first time in years, he suddenly had hope for Maglor, hope that he would not fade slowly into nothing on far shores as the age of elves passed. It was beautiful, a strange juxtaposition with the sense of underlying tragedy he felt in this room. Looking up, he realized that the ceiling of the room was painted with stars and branches, just as Celebrían had done for Arwen’s room in Rivendell. The emotion rose up and choked him.

Maglor, disturbed by their voices, stuck his head out of the bathroom. Clearly, a wash had done him good, though his hair was still matted. He waved at Fingon. “I think the hair’s a lost cause.”

“You should let Maedhros cut it,” Fingon advised. “He’s good with hair, and as he’s fond of reminding us, he has two good hands.”

Maglor nodded, and Elrond went to fetch Maedhros. When he walked into the kitchen, Maedhros and Celebrían were chopping vegetables, heads bowed, and whispering to one another. When they saw Elrond, they silenced. Maedhros looked guilty to be caught, but Celebrían did not. 

“How is he?” Celebrían asked, offering Elrond a tentative smile. 

“As well as can be expected. I put him in Arwen’s room, if that’s alright with you. Maedhros, he wants you to cut his hair.”

Maedhros, likely sensing trouble from the dark look that crossed Celebrían’s face, made a quick exit. Putting her knife down, Celebrían sat hard on the floor. “I’m not angry at you,” she told Elrond, “It’s just- I’m not ready. I don’t want to let her go.”

“I know.” Elrond said, and sat on the floor with her. They held one another for a long time, mourning their daughter, who was not yet dead. As they sat there, Elrond opened his letter from Arwen. She seemed happy, writing mostly of the day-to-day affairs of Gondor, of her husband and her children. 

“Grandchildren,” Celebrían said, reading over his shoulder. “And we’ll never see them.”

Elrond pulled her close to his chest, and said nothing. When Celebrían had finished weeping, and Elrond’s shaking hands had steadied, they both stood, and Elrond took Maedhros’s place chopping vegetables. “What were you and Maedhros speaking of?” He asked, scraping a pile of carrots into a pot. 

“Maglor. We were discussing informing people of his return. Fingon already told Gil-galad and Celebrimbor when he went to borrow clothes. Maedhros is too tall and Fingon too… Fingon, to lend Maglor clothes and have them fit well. They’ve both sworn secrecy. But there are other people who need to know. Nerdanel, for starters. But then there’s people who might be stressful for Maglor. I find Curufin stressful, and I’m barely even related to him. Then, there’s people who aren’t really close to Maglor, but should probably know. Finarfin will need to know, of course, since he’s the king, and Finrod will probably find out, whether we tell him or not, and will be hurt if we don’t.”

“Did Maedhros have any ideas?”

“We sent my mother to send word to Nerdanel. Regardless of who else Maglor wants to tell, neither Maedhros nor Celebrimbor would agree to keep this from her. Besides, she’ll be glad to see him, once she’s done wringing his fool neck for worrying her.”

The cooking was almost done, and Elrond stepped out of the kitchen to allow Celebrían her space. He was met by Fingon, Maedhros and Maglor. Maglor was wearing something of Celebrimbor’s, which Elrond could identify by the small seven-pointed star at the collar. This marked it as neither Fingon’s nor Gil-galad’s. Maedhros had done a good job with Maglor’s hair. It was short, but not shaved, clipped around his ears in a mannish fashion. That and a wash made all the difference in the world, though Maglor was still far too thin. 

Elrond led them to the sitting room, and, surrounded by his family, was able to let go of his grief. 

\--

When Elrond went up to the cliff late on a morning a week after Maglor and Sam’s arrival, he found Frodo already there. The hobbit clasped a large teacup in his small hands, and slid over to allow Elrond to sit beside him. 

“Are you well?” Elrond asked him, looking out over the calm sea. The sun was already risen, her bright rays reflected over blue-green waters. The sky was not quite clear, with fluffy blue clouds dotting it, moving lazily in slow winds. As he watched, a gull dived towards the water, swooping back up a moment later. 

Frodo shrugged. “I’m happy to have Sam here, but I can’t help but feel, I don’t know, cold. I hadn’t realized how much time had passed. But Sam is so old now, he’s lived a whole life, and I wasn’t there for it. Wasn’t there for him.”

“I understand,” said Elrond, and he did. He privately dreaded the day when a ship arrived bearing news of Aragorn’s death, dreaded hearing that his sons too had chosen Luthien’s path. Elrond had missed much of his brother’s life, nephews upon nephews down through the line of kings. Missing his daughter, his grandchildren, his sons (at least for now) broke his heart. 

Frodo looked into his tea, and breathed deeply. “And you? You’ve got your fathers back. How are you feeling?”

“Overwhelmed. He’s been here a week and I still can’t believe it’s real. Valar, Maedhros has been here since we arrived and I still can’t believe it. It’s just so much.”

“He seems much improved, since his arrival, your Maglor. To hear it from Sam, he drank nothing but seawater and ate nothing but shells. Though that can’t be true, he looks it.”

Elrond breathed out a laugh. “When we were children, they were reversed, you know. Maedhros was so consumed by self-loathing and hopelessness that he could barely get out of bed in the morning. He was sick constantly in a way that no elf should be, and he barely ate. Maglor was healthy then, hale and hopeful even when there was no hope to be had. He sang, and played, and was wonderful. To see Maedhros really, truly well here was a marvelous surprise. Seeing Maglor so sick has been rather the opposite.”

Frodo nodded thoughtfully. “I know how you feel. For most of my life, Bilbo was far healthier than he had any right to be. At the end, it was awful to see him as sick as he was. But even in the week he’s been here, Maglor has been doing well. I caught him humming while helping Celebrían with the weeding yesterday. And seeing him was very good for Nerdanel. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so happy.”

Elrond nodded as well. “All true. Don’t misunderstand, seeing Maglor get off that boat ranks behind only the birth of my children and my successful proposal to Celebrían in most pleasant and wonderful surprises. Though of course Maedhros was substantially more shocking.”

They sat in silence for a long while, Frodo finishing his tea, and Elrond watching the sea. Elrond wondered for a moment what occupied Frodo’s mind. In his own, it was a strange peace that now ruled. Though his heart still pulled to his children on the far shore, it also was tied strongly to this land where he now sat. In it was not only Celebrían, that fierce and wonderful ruler of his heart, but many others. Gil-galad and Celebrimbor, with their great friendship, had been respectively an expected and an unexpected delight. Here, Elrond had built new connections, to Eärendil and Elwing, who had been so long removed from him, to Nerdanel and Fingon, who were both lovely, and who were both, through Maedhros, family. On these shores, Elrond had been united with not one, but both of his true fathers. Maedhros, whose smiles were now frequent, though never more so than when Fingon was in the room, was here. Maglor, who was rediscovering jokes, and his once-quick tongue, was here. 

“What are you hoping to see?” Elrond asked Frodo.

“The past, I suppose,” Frodo said, after a long pause. “But aren’t we all?”

Elrond considered this. “No, Master Hobbit, I don’t think that I am. At least, not today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again with the thank you's. I don't think I'm done in this world quite yet. I have a lot more to say, including some deleted scenes from this section- how Sam got Maglor on the boat for example- as well as other things. I'm unexpectedly in love with writing Gil-galad's perspective, and I think he might get away from me if I'm not careful.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first Silm fic, and I haven't read any Tolkien in ages, so my memory may be a little foggy. If you find any glaring errors, feel free to either a) point them out to me or b) pretend that it's just a function of the world this fic lives in.


End file.
